Forgotten Dreams
Part 15
“What,” Altair repeated, “Do. You. Feel.”
Trowa was silent a moment longer, then, “Nothing.”
Altair nodded and shifted so the gun wasn’t pointing
directly at Trowa. “Ralph was
right, you are not afraid of death.” Quatre sighed in relief and looked up at
Trowa. That was
when Altair pointed her gun at him.
Quatre froze and covered his eyes, sighing. “All
right, Altair. You’ve made your point;
you’re very scary. Can you please tone it down a bit? Don’t you think this is
extreme, even
for *you*?”
Altair blinked a bit, then glanced at Trowa. “One more
thing. What now.”
Trowa’s grip on Quatre’s hand tightened, and a tic
started in his left cheek. “What do
you mean?”
“What do you feel now.” When Trowa didn’t answer,
Altair elaborated. “Do you feel fear,
anger, joy. What do you feel when I point this gun at Quatre.”
“. . . Fear. Anger.”
“Why fear.”
“. . . I don’t want Quatre dead.”
“Why not.”
Trowa blinked rapidly. “I, I don’t know. He’s special
to me.”
“How special?” Emotion started to creep into Altair’s
voice.
“Very.” “Would you die for
him?”
“What?” “If you had to choose,
who would die? You or Quatre?”
Quatre sucked in his breath. “Trowa, don’t answer
that! Please, Altair, don’t! Don’t
make him choose!” ‘Don’t kill Trowa, I love him too much to lose him. . .’
Altair ignored him.
Quatre shook his head furiously. “Altair, don’t ask
him that!”
Altair pressed the gun against Quatre’s head, finger
tightening on the trigger.
Trowa spoke up quickly. “Me.”
“What?”
“If I had to choose, I’d rather die.”
Altair sounded a bit incredulous. “You care for him
that much.”
Trowa nodded.
“You said you felt anger. Why.”
“You’re his sister. You should love him, not threaten
him. And I don’t like seeing
Quatre threatened.” A slow, pleased smile made its way
across Altair’s lovely features as
the gun disappeared to wherever it had come from, and she backed up. Still
grinning, she slid
her sunglasses back on. “Good,” she murmured, “Good. Happy birthday, Quatre.”
She pat him on
the shoulder.
Quatre covered his eyes and leaned against Trowa,
shaking a bit. “For the love of Allah,
couldn’t you think of a *better* way to wish me a happy birthday?!”
Altair shook her head, still smiling. “I approve of
Trowa.”
Almost as one, the rest of the Winner women smiled and
relaxed. Quatre just looked at
them, then back at Altair.
“Translation being. . .?” ‘Those bitches planned this.
. . Ooooh, I’m going to get them
all!’
Altair turned around and started walking back to her
Mazda. “You two are good for each
other. I approve of the relationship.” She turned before she got in and flashed
a quick grin.
“Besides, the gun was fake.”
“I’m starting to share Wufei’s opinion of women,”
Quatre said dryly, a faint smile on
his lips as he shook his head. “What a way to be sisterly!” He turned to Trowa
and the
others. “Look, guys, I’m *really* sorry about all this, I *really* am. Altair
usually doesn’t
do---”
“Altair’s a professional scary person,” Basma cut in.
“She does that to *everyone*,
don’t worry. It’s like, tradition. She meets you, points a gun at you, questions
you, and
*most* of the time she lets you live. That’s just how Altair is.” She grinned.
“Don’t worry,
like I said. I know my sister.”
‘But how?’ Quatre wondered, ‘When you two *never* get
along? And why did you distract
Trowa?’ He opened his mouth to voice his questions, but Basma started talking
again.
“Now come on, you all’ve probably never been to the
desert, so you’re probably *dying*
from the heat. Come on, into the cars.” She ushered the boys into the cars,
then squealed and
hit Duo on the arm. “Don’t *touch* me, dammit, I’m a lesbian!” Duo chuckled and
was pulled
into the car by Heero. “Yeah, you show him who’s boss! Men. . . And it’s *not*
funny,
Vamakshi! Mechanics. . .”
* *
*
Quatre leaned forward and poked Iria.
“Stop it, I’m driving.”
“I know,” Quatre said cheerily, “But what are we
having for dinner?” He spoke in Arabic.
Iria rolled her eyes. “Food.”
“Duh,” Basma murmured, staring out the window.
“What *type* of food? Strawberries? Trowa loves
strawberries.” Trowa looked up, a faint
frown on his face.
Basma turned around and stared at Trowa,
speaking Japanese. “Really? I love
strawberries, too! But not covered in chocolate. I’m allergic to chocolate.
Makes me
nauseous. Horrible, huh?” She continued chattering as Trowa stared at her,
silent.
Iria shook her head. “Fine. We’ll add strawberries to
the menu. Now sit back and buckle
up! If we got in a crash---”
Quatre smiled and sat back, buckling back up and
taking Trowa’s hand, kissing it gently.
Basma ‘oo’-ed at them. Quatre ignored her. “How are you doing, Trowa?”
“. . .”
“How long have you known Quatre, Trowa?” Basma grinned
and licked her lips suggestively.
Quatre blushed.
Trowa gave them both an adorably blank look. He didn’t
get it. “. . . Five months.”
“You being nice to him?”
Trowa blinked and nodded.
“Good. Y’know, I love my brother, and I’m not as scary
as Altair, but I *will* castrate
you if you hurt him or make him sad, and I don’t know the first thing about
castrating
someone, but I’m *always* willing to learn!”
Trowa’s eyes widened a bit. “You’re very cheerful when
threatening a person.”
Quatre rolled his eyes and flicked Basma’s forehead.
“Stop it, Basma.”
“Ow! You brat! I’m surprised at you, Quatre.”
“Oh? Why?” Quatre slid his arm through Trowa’s,
delighted he wasn’t pulling away.
“Well, you used to be such a spoiled little brat! Gee,
are you a clone or something? An
impostor? Where’d the brat I used to dress up go?”
Quatre’s eyes widened and he shook his head at Basma.
“The Magaunacs taught me to have
pride in myself. They’re wonderful people.”
“Huh. So, Trowa, how do you know Altair? She seemed
*real* pleased to see you.” Sarcasm
dripped from Basma’s words.
Trowa looked down. “She worked for a mercenary group I
was with for a while. She was
going by Omisha, then.” Basma giggled. “What?”
“Omisha is the Hindu goddess of birth and death, and,
coincidentally, the name of one of
our sisters. Altair steals her name a lot.”
‘How does *Basma* know all this stuff about Altair?
What, does she stalk her? I wouldn’t
be surprised. Then again, I’ve been away for a while. . . And their
relationship has always
been a love-hate kind of thing. . . But was it two-sided? Hmmm. You miss a lot
when you’re a
spoiled brat.’
Trowa raised an eyebrow. “It fit her activities.”
“That unibang is cool. Is it natural? And what do you
mean, ‘it fit her activities’?”
Basma’s eyes twinkled.
“It’s natural. Omi---Altair killed during the day, and
at night. . .”
Basma grinned and prompted Trowa when he fell silent.
“At night. . .? What did she do at
night?”
Trowa flushed slightly. “At night. . . at night she
and Ralph worked on the life aspect
of her name. Sometimes with Chris, too.” His flushed deepened.
Basma started laughing and hit the back of the seat
with her fist. “Hot damn! *Did*
they? *Really*? And here I thought Sister Scary was totally asexual! Ha! And
threesomes to
boot! That’s wonderful!” She continued chortling as Iria stopped the car.
“Get out, Basma.”
“Heh!”
Quatre got out and ran over to Trowa’s side, opening
the door for him. “My lady, we’ve
arrived.” He smiled and bowed, wondering if Trowa would get the double meaning
of what he’d
just said.
Trowa’s mouth twitched as he got out and looked
around. “Do I get strawberries today,
too?”
Quatre slid his arms around Trowa’s waist and squeezed
slightly. “Your wish is my
command.” He let Trowa go and pushed him forward. “Go on, I need to speak with
Iria.” Trowa
nodded and was dragged off by Basma. “Iria?”
Iria leaned against the car. “Is it about Altair?”
Quatre shook his head. “Although I need to ask Basma a
few questions about her. But
Altair won’t kill Trowa.” ‘Yet.’
“Hn.” Iria looked doubtful.
“I need a favor, Iria, a big one. I, uhm, I need for
Trowa and I to share a room, bed
and all.” He blushed.
Iria raised an eyebrow. “I’m not one to jump to
conclusions, Quatre, but that blush
makes me wonder.”
Quatre shook his head. “No! It’s not like that, Iria.
Trowa gets nightmares, bad ones.
We’ve been sharing a bed for the past month because he sleeps better if I’m in
bed with him.
The nightmares aren’t as bad, then.”
Iria tilted her head to the side, then smiled. “All
right. I trust you, Quatre. I’ll
arrange it and squash any rumors that come up.”
Quatre hugged his sister. “I love you, Iria.”
Iria laughed and returned the embrace. “I love you,
too, Quatre.”
* *
*
The plane ride and car drive had taken most of the
day, so the festivities were
postponed until the following day, and Quatre and his guests were ushered right
to the dining
room. Duo and Heero sat next to each other with Basma on Duo’s other side, and
Altair next to
Heero. The last time Quatre had listened, Basma and Duo were discussing various
ways of
blowing things up. Wufei sat between Jamila and Latifa, looking like he’d
rather be fighting
OZ. Quatre and Trowa sat next to each other, and no one commented that they sat
so close
together, nor that Quatre ate left-handed because his right hand was under the
table and
holding Trowa’s hand. However, Zahira *did* look up when desert was brought in.
“I sense an underlying theme of strawberries,” she
murmured softly in Arabic.
Quatre nodded. “I know.”
“Do you also know that strawberries are believed by
some to be aphrodisiacs?”
Quatre blinked innocently at Zaynah. “*Really*? Oh,
my, I hadn’t *known* that! Thank
you, Zaynah, *so* much!”
“Sarcastic brat,” Zaynah muttered as she and Zahira
exchanged glances, then Zara spoke
up.
“So, Trowa, are you enjoying yourself so far?” the
young chef asked, adding more food to
his plate. She’d been doing that a lot during the course of the evening.
Trowa nodded. “Yes, miss. . .”
Zara laughed. “I’m Zara. It’s hard to tell who’s who
with identical triplets. *Un*like
twins, where you have a fifty-fifty chance either way.”
Sahar and Selma looked up. “Hey,” Selma countered, “At
least *we* don’t get each *other*
mixed up!”
Quatre smiled as the five girls exchanged friendly
insults, then fell half out of his
chair and started choking when Trowa leaned over and whispered in his ear
softly.
“Will you make love to me?”
“Quatre!” Iria pat his back firmly as Quatre climbed
back in his chair, coughing.
“Quatre, it’s called chewing, love. It’s a great habit to be in.”
Basma laughed. “Hey, Quatre! Don’t die, you haven’t
kissed Trowa for us yet!”
Quatre blushed, nodded and cleared his throat a couple
of times. “I-I’m fine, Iria.
really.” Ignoring Basma was usually the best way to get rid of her.
“Sure?”
“Yes.” Iria turned back to her dinner and Quatre
turned to a very red Trowa. “What?” he
whispered.
Trowa shook his head. “N, nothing. I’m sorry.”
Quatre squeezed his hand. “Please, you startled me,
that’s all.”
Trowa bit his lip, eyes fixed on his plate. “I, I
asked if you would make love to me,”
he whispered.
Quatre’s heart started beating faster and he swallowed
several times. “Now?” ‘Oh, Allah,
please not right this moment. . .’
Trowa shook his head. “Later. Tonight.”
“Are you sure?”
Trowa nodded. “Please, I, I need this tonight. I need
you to love me. . .” A faint smile
graced his lips. “Besides, I don’t have anything else to get you for your
birthday.”
“I can love you without sleeping with you, Trowa.”
‘Why am I discouraging him?’
Trowa’s grip on his hand tightened. “Please, I need
you tonight.”
Quatre nodded. “All right. All right.” He turned back
to his food, not at all surprised
that he’d lost his appetite to the fluttering of his heart, and picked at it
for a while. He
glanced around the table at the other pilots. Trowa was eating like he hadn’t
just asked
Quatre to have sex with him, Wufei was scowling and doing his best to ignore
the
ever-flirtatious Jamila while grumbling about women, Duo was still chattering
about
explosives and sharp objects at Basma, who chattered right back, and Heero was
talking with
Altair. ‘Oooooh, scary thought. They’ll either love each other or hate each
other, and either
way that’s a bad thing.’ Rubbing his eyes, Quatre snuck another glance at
Trowa. ‘Did he
*really* just ask me to have sex with him? Oh, Allah, please tell me I’m not
hallucinating.
Please tell me he really asked me. . .’
“Quatre!” Iria poked him. “Are you listening to me, or
drooling over Trowa?”
Quatre looked down, then at his sister. “I’m sorry,
Iria. . .”
Iria shook her head and smiled. “It’s okay. I just
suggested showing Trowa the gardens
after dinner.”
‘The gardens are on the way to my room, so no one will
question us if we head off that
way. Iria, do you know the opportunity you just gave us?’ Quatre smiled. “Thank
you, Iria.
Would you like that, Trowa?” He squeezed Trowa’s hand a bit.
Trowa nodded. “Yes.”
Quatre smiled again. “Good.”
“Hey, Iria! Is dinner over? I want to show Duo my
knives!” Iria rolled her eyes.
“You get to stay for five more minutes, Basma, but everyone else can leave.”
“What!? No fair!” Basma sulked as, one by one or in
groups, the rest of the Winner
sisters got up and wished Quatre a happy birthday, and after them the
Magaunacs. Rashid was
last and frowned at Trowa as he clapped Quatre on the shoulder.
“Happy birthday, young master.”
“Thank you, Rashid.” Quatre smiled up at the tall man
and Rashid nodded, then left.
Quatre got up and looked down at Trowa, holding his hand out. “Shall I show you
the gardens?”
Trowa took his hand and stood. “. . . I guess. . .”
Quatre flushed and looked down as they left the
dinning room. “Th-they’re on the way to
my room. . .”
“Is that why Iria suggested showing them to me?”
Quatre shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe. So. . . the
gardens, or. . .?”
Trowa smiled slightly. “I can see the gardens
tomorrow.”
Quatre tried not to grin like a fool as he nodded.
"Okay." He hesitantly put his arm
around Trowa's waist as they walked, bypassing the gardens. Pausing in front of
his bedroom
door, he took a deep breath. "You're completely sure, Trowa? I mean, you
asked because this
is something *you* want, not something *I* want?"
Trowa wrapped his arms around Quatre's neck loosely
and rested his chin in the crook of
Quatre's neck, nodding. "I've thought about this a lot, and for a long
time. I need to know
what it's like to be loved like that, not just used. I want you to show
me."
Quatre smiled, a tear falling down his cheek as he
nodded. “I can do that, Trowa. I can
do that." He opened the door and took Trowa's hand, leading him into the
room, then closed
the door and locked it. Suddenly shy, he let go of Trowa's hand and rubbed his
own hands
together briskly, then wiped at his face. He sat down on the bed and patted
next to him. "Sit
with me, Trowa." It occurred to Quatre that he wasn't the only one who was
nervous; Trowa
didn't know what to expect any more than Quatre himself did.
Trowa slowly walked to the bed and sat on it, looking
at Quatre through his hair. "What
now?"
Quatre smiled and wrapped his arms around Trowa,
holding him close. "I'm not sure. I've
never done this before." He kissed Trowa's cheek gently, rubbing Trowa's
shoulders.
Trowa shifted a bit. "There's something in your
pocket."
Quatre felt it, too. 'What? Who put something in my
pocket? *I* didn't!' Trowa sat up
and Quatre reached in his pocket, fingers closing around a small glass bottle.
'I'm glad it
didn't break.' He took it out and looked at it quizzically. "What's
this?"
Trowa's eyes widened a bit. "That's, uhm,
lubricant, Quatre." Quatre gave him a blank
look. "Lubricant. . . for sex. . ."
The light clicked on and Quatre laughed nervously.
". . . Oh. I feel smart. . ." 'Who
the hell put this there?! Basma? No, she's too lesbian to think about. . .
ahem. . .'
Trowa smiled slightly and touched Quatre's cheek
softly, bringing his lips close to
Quatre's. "Quatre. . ."
Quatre's breath caught in his throat. "Ye,
yes?"
"Kiss me. . . please. . ."
Quatre's heart started fluttering as he pressed his
lips to Trowa's, pushing him back on
the bed. Trowa sighed softly as he tugged at Quatre's vest until Quatre took it
off, then
opened his mouth slightly.
Quatre was amazed at all the wonderful textures that
he tasted in Trowa's mouth,
cinnamon, a sharp crisp taste like celery, and something unique that was
undeniably Trowa.
Moving his body closer and molding it to Trowa's, Quatre gasped. Pulling back a
little, he
caressed Trowa's arms as he looked at his lover. Trowa's bang fell softly over
one emerald
eye and Quatre reached up and slowly pushed it back, then tilted his head up to
first kiss
one closed eye, then the other.
Smiling, Quatre gently pushed against Trowa's
shoulders. Trowa relaxed and sank slowly
to lie on the bed. As Trowa opened his eyes he saw Quatre leaning over him,
blue eyes full of
love. Smiling at the young man that his heart cried out for, Quatre leaned down
and kissed
him gently on the lips, a gentle caress of lips upon lips. Quatre slid his lips
to Trowa's
jawline and gently licked with small laps down his throat. With restrained
passion, going
slow so as not to scare Trowa, Quatre opened Trowa's shirt. Caressing the other
boy, Quatre
played with his nipples, licking and suckling them. As Trowa put his hands at
his sides and
clenched the sheets tight, Quatre moved up and straddled him. Looking down from
under his
lowered lids, Quatre silently and slowly undressed, then got up, moving to take
off his
pants. When he finished, Quatre turned around to see Trowa laying on the bed,
gloriously
naked.
‘Oh Allah, thank you for giving me this chance to
prove to him how beautiful he is.’
Slowly Quatre turned and knelt beside the bed, running his hands over Trowa.
"Do you know how
beautiful you are? Thank you, Trowa."
"For what?"
"For letting me love you, for letting me have a
chance to touch you, Trowa. For
everything. Thank you for trusting me enough to give me this."
"Qua-"
Quatre leaned over and kissed Trowa gently before
kneeling between his legs. He could
feel his own need urging him on, but Quatre wanted to wait. It had taken him
this long to go
this far, and he wanted this to be special. This wasn't just his first time, it
was Trowa's,
too. The first time for Trowa to feel love, the first time for Trowa to actually
make love to
someone.
Unsure that he could quite put his mouth on another
person's organ yet, Quatre decided
to use a more indirect approach. Watching Trowa's face carefully, Quatre's hand
stole
downward and cupped Trowa's growing arousal. The brown-hair boy's eyes widened
for a brief
moment before falling shut again. The expression that flitted across his face
was priceless.
Quatre couldn't help it but lean down to give Trowa an urgent kiss. He wanted
to keep Trowa
here forever. He wanted to protect Trowa from the world, he wanted. . . he
wanted. . .
"Trowa ..."
The voice was hushed and urgent. Quatre wasn't sure
how much longer he could wait. He
waited for Trowa to open his eyes again, for he wanted to ask before doing
anything else.
"Are you. . . ready?"
It took a few moments for the meaning behind the
question to register, but when it did,
Trowa nodded his assent. "I'm yours, Quatre."
Carefully, Quatre reached for the tube of lubricant
and gently spread it onto himself.
He inserted a finger, and then two into Trowa, wanting to prepare the taller
boy the best he
could. He wanted the experience to be as enjoyable to Trowa as it was to him.
"Are you ready?"
"Yes."
The initial feeling was mind-blowing. Quatre gasped at
the sensation of tightness around
him, squeezing and massaging his member, driving his senses to an overload. He
wanted to
plunge into Trowa right away, to feel the friction, the pleasure, the heat; but
he held on.
He rained dozens of kisses on Trowa's face and shoulders, trying to distract
both of them
while Trowa got used to him.
When Quatre felt the tenseness slowly leaving Trowa's
body, he took it as his queue to
move. Moving slowly at first, their bodies rubbed together. The smooth silk of
Trowa made
Quatre groan in pleasure.
‘My friend. . . My lover. . . My own.’
A comforting heartbeat and a gentle hand smoothing his
hair was the last Quatre felt as
he climaxed, bringing both himself and Trowa over the edge.